It had been two hours since Hajime and the Brazen Couple waited for the general’s presence, at least according to his slowing mind. It might’ve gotten worse with each tick of the grandfather clock at the corner of the reception room. He could only catch so many flies and mosquitoes in mid-air to keep him busy.
On the other hand, Tokiwa seemed to finally enjoy herself by the coffee table with her fiance—grunting with teeth clenched—victorious over her victory against their sixth arm-wrestling match. It would’ve appeared fun yet still mundane without mentioning that the marble floor beneath their feet had caved in at multiple depths. For once, Haruto’s gangly noodle arms didn’t tell the whole story. It was glorious.
Hajime supposed they had enough money to burn an entire nation if this was a usual routine whenever they got bored to tears. He saw no reason the average treader wouldn’t get the land-rich-duke treatment for their efforts. Perhaps for now, he was the only outlier, and it was worthy of a question from the two.
“Hey, Kendo Girl,” he said, legs crossed with his arms resting on the sofa, “do y’all get paid for how much mammoths you suplex or what?”
Tokiwa suddenly had a gentle touch toward Haruto, letting go with zero resistance and showing a smile of endless joy. “You bet! We do it every day, even in our sleep!”
“You know I’ve never fallen for that, right?”
“Okay, I’m no liar, but there’s a bit of truth in that. Take a look at this.” Tokiwa swiped her finger downward, but instead of the main status screen popping up, her subtle diagonal turn at the end displayed what seemed to be a category of familiar mob NPCs.
Besides realizing that one could turn their screen to show it to someone else, Hajime’s eyes got bombarded with intense mesmerization. It was a bestiary, yet simultaneously, it was more than that. Each entry had the usual info of whether a slime variant was weak to fire or ice and whether they appeared more in swamps than grasslands. But through all those bells and whistles, the images sprung to life past the virtual borders.
Although he knew they weren’t as “real to the touch” as they seemed at a second glance, the fact they had a set of fixed attack patterns caught his interest further. A slime could jump three to four times quicker, and a goblin could swing ten to twelve times slower. Swordland might be a world of flesh and bone, but deep within its code, it was still a game. The lore text at the bottom of each entry had also hit close to home.
However, the most striking text of the entries was the currency values after every name, which varied from monster to monster. Throughout his life in Shibuya, Hajime had never seen such a feature for a game built around gaining experience. It almost seemed it prioritized their worth in gold, as even the lowest beetle had a few cents pegged in their existence.
“We get paid in Drachmas if you’re wondering,” explained Tokiwa, closing her screen. “The things we buy, the monsters we kill, the treasures we loot… all flow in a constant exchange of goods and services, and we treaders do it better than anyone. Swordland wants you to invest, even if you only catch butterflies after school. It’s pretty cool, huh?”
Hajime hummed, caressing his chin at what might be the most ludicrous excuse of game progression he had ever tried to figure out. “So, it’s a fixed economy where only the strongest gain the most profit?”
“Well, no. I mean, yes, but—”
“I’ve heard enough. That shit is so primitive that even Jeff Bezos would start taxing his assets. For example, what happens when winter comes, then all the slimes freeze to death? Are you gonna hunt a thousand mammoths daily or sell them for three million a piece?”
Haruto stepped into the conversation, raising a long finger between the two. “Great question, Orca, but I’m afraid that’ll be a topic back home. It’s complicated.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” said Hajime, standing with a satisfying crack from his neck and toes. “Anyway, whaddya say we blow this popsicle stand and show me what this city offers? I reckon it wouldn’t hurt.”
“I was about to ask the same thing. With all of General Theo’s adventures, he lives in a field more than in a house,” Haruto shrugged. “Wanna retake a pegasus cart?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
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Once more, the Brazen Couple guided Hajime to the most popular transportation mode in Coelestis. In a bizarre twist, however, there was no driver to speak of in a pegasus cart. These flying white horses merely had their reigns tied to the vehicle itself, never panicking at the slightest provocation.
Tokiwa did the honors of suggesting where they could start a brief tour around the city, a place that defined their love for magic and steel.
Haruto hopped into the carriage last, uttering, “Are you sure? The next Feast of Blades is in preparation.”
“Of course, I’m sure!” said Tokiwa, clenching her fist in sheer excitement. “Heroes never ask people what they want in haste. You show them your ways in confidence!”
“That… doesn’t make much sense.”
“It does if you wanna get stronger with someone, babe. Now, fly, my loyal equestrians! To the Centennial Fair!”
On Tokiwa’s command, the pegasi neighed and galloped with their wings unraveling like a dozen angels escorting them to heavenly sites across the winding road downtown. It was an interesting choice for a path, considering Coelestis acted as the foundation of the Hand of the White Maiden, their towering pride at five hundred stories.
Hajime thought he had already witnessed the mother of eye-openers upon visiting Castle Brand. Despite what should be a fleeting blur for the human eye, he discerned again that they zipped through other passing horses without touching a single strand between manes. The level of detail thrust upon him culminated in noticing five children skipping rope as their ride continued. In other words, they were stories.
The other stories that had happened around him weren’t anything to scoff at, either. A man stole a woman’s purse at the local fish market, only for a leashed wyvern to foil his plan with a flaming spit at his backside, bringing a smile to the one who held the leash. Another showed a young boy posing with a wooden sword against his childhood “enemies” before delivering a strike that knocked all five of them, bringing light to a treader in the making.
Still, those were mere tastes of what his senses could muster. Suddenly, it turned into a story where everyone—including their grandmother—was a hardy blacksmith toiling away at their anvils, their aprons stained with soot from top to bottom. The sparks of red hot metal shined through their immaculate, rhythmic strikes. Any distraction would hamper their craft to the point of no return.
For lack of a better description, it was gorgeous. Hajime even got to see two familiar faces walking by. One was a gleeful daughter of peak happiness, while the other was a jovial father of peak rotundness. “Mila! Abram! It’s me!” said Hajime, but he waved too late as they disappeared into the crowd below, who all gathered to their desired destination.
“You know they can’t hear you, right?” Haruto responded, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, we understand. Everything is quite slow through the eyes of a treader.”
“Does that mean you can pluck a fly’s leg behind your back?”
“Umm, no.”
“Exactly,” pointed Hajime right at his face. “Maybe I’m just built different, so who knows? So, care to tell me what this Feasting of Centennial Blades is all about?”
“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s a monthly celebration of everything that is Swordland. It may not seem like it, but everyone here is a master blacksmith, including us. I dare say our skills are quite miraculous and godlike, as is the beauty of magic and steel.”
He cackled like an attentive customer who would never fall for any grandiose scam, wondering if Haruto had a case of the brain fuzzies this morning. “Godlike, you say? Then, why don’t you craft me a knife from the palm of your—”
Hajime bit his tongue, dumbfounded by Haruto suddenly holding an iron ingot before crushing it in a cloud of pixels. Perhaps he shouldn’t doubt people’s words too fast next time. He got his wish in less time than it would take for him to say, “What the motherfucking fuck? It’s got a fancy handle and everything.”
“Why, thank you, Orca, but you ain’t seen nothing yet. Tokiwa had been the seven-time champion before Mila arrived at the scene. That only means she’s finally found a worthy opponent.”
“You can say that again!” said Tokiwa, giving a thumbs up with a tone not too dissimilar from a headstrong manga protagonist, ready to face any hurdles that might come her way.
The time had come for them to end their wondrous ride. For the sake of abiding by pegasus laws in cramped spaces and general fairness, they joined the ever-expanding crowd, leading to a cacophony of fireworks over the horizon.